Lost Boy
by TheKanta
Summary: This story neither begins nor ends happily. The world still spins, a single event doesn't stop the evolution of time. It may create a ripple in the water; that's how life works. One day, the hope my mind takes refuge in may not exist anymore. But the sun always sets in the West. And that is one thing I can always rely on.
1. THEN

**NA** : _The chapters will be split into "then" and "now". it'll take a look into Eren's past and future and will switch every chapter._

* * *

This story neither begins nor ends happily.

The world still spins, a single event doesn't stop the evolution of time.

It may create a ripple in the water; that's how life works.

One day, the hope my mind takes refuge in may not exist anymore.

But the sun always sets in the West.

And that is one thing I can always rely on.

* * *

xxx

The first snowfall of 2006 took place on a chilly day in mid November. The children around me had gloves to warm their chilly fingers, colourful jackets that served as armor against the sharp sting of the cold against bare skin. Some kids looked overjoyed about the snow, glancing up at the falling flakes and squealing (more like shrieking, honestly) once the small white web landing on their red cold bitten nose as if they've never experienced this weather before. There were others who looked to me like Penguins, waddling around because they cold seemed to have frozen them, or perhaps they looked like a turtle; with their necks retracted into their coat. Overall, some were grumpy, others were overjoyed. Then there was me. I was only worrying about the snow getting into the trailer through the hole in the roof. Because I could very much doubt that my mom had covered it up like she had claimed to do countless amounts of times before.

But I was forgiving, because I was only nine years old at the time, and I hadn't even realized why my mother was so inconsistent day in and day out. Maybe she is tired - I would think - she is always tired.

Now because it was home time (school had been over for maybe five minutes, the snow had distracted myself along with many other kids) I started to do my own waddle over to the overly bright yellow school bus. It must have been quite new, I was proud of my neighbours for being able to afford such a large vehicle. But I was also proud of myself, for becoming friends with the bus drivers uncle. Because now I had a ride to school. I didn't have to suffer the walk on such cold days.

"Afternoon Mr. Arlert. Is this a new bus? It smells new," I inquired with curiosity that could be sniffed out from a field away. "Looks new too. the colour isn't so orange anymore. I like it, thank you for the ride," Then my butt made friends with the (leather, was it?) of the first row seat. It was reserved especially for me, behind Mr. Arlert, so I could speak with him as he drove. Sometimes he wouldn't answer, though, so I answered for him in my head as I did when mom didn't reply. Adults just didn't seem to like to converse for some odd reason. "Armin wasn't here today. Is he sick? That's too bad, maybe I'll walk over later, I feel like my wiggly tooth is about to fall out. I'd like to show him,"

And because Mr. Arlert was not driving at the moment since most kids still had not boarded the bus, he had replied with a slightly gruff sounding voice. "Mhm. Poor boy's caught the flu," With that said, the last few children boarded the bus and Mr. Arlert let the bus's engine roar to life, conquering any conversations anyone was having in the vehicle.

The ride back home was always an adventure to my child mind, when I wasn't speaking to Mr. Arlert, my attention was out the window. Every day something new was on the side of the road; a new weed, or a rock had been overturn, maybe a dead animal laid in the street, but something always was different. That was what I could count on during these drives home. When the bus sped over a pothole, I sometimes jumped from my seat and that sent thrilling butterflies to my stomach. It was always so excitable, always the best time of the day.

As opposed to that, the worst part of the day was hopping off the bus (after thanking and waving to Mr. Arlert of course) and walking through the grassy field to my trailer home. It was quite small, only had three rooms: a kitchen, living room, and a bedroom. The smell was already registered as normal to my nose, but if a stranger had walked in their noses would scrunch up in disgust at the stench. Mom was always in her room, the door never locked though. I would creak open the door just wide enough for my small body to fit through and I'd fly up onto the bed as if I were Peter Pan, landing on the semi soft mattress that was bare of blankets and only held my mom on top.

Her hair was pulled over her right shoulder (or so I thought, I still hadn't gotten down my directions at the time) in a messy side pony tail. At one point it might've been neat, but it was frizzy then, some of her hair at come loose of the rubber band used to make the pony tail. Mom would never look directly at me unless I crawled over to her and looked into her eyes. Sometimes she sat at the edge of the mattress, but sometimes she laid back on it as she was this day.

"Ma, it's snowing outside. Come and catch the snow on our tongues with me," She didn't give me a response until I grabbed her bony hand and dragged her out of bed. Once her feet were on the ground there was no stopping her, mom was out the trailers door without me. Easily I caught up with her uneven steps, and we were both standing under the fall of the snow. "Isn't it nice mom?"

"It's nice," And that was the only response from her I'd get for the day, the dry sound of a voice that seemed so unfamiliar, though familiar at the same time. At that moment, when I was nine, I hadn't realized the shell of a person my mother had become. I only thought she was always tired.

When later that evening I had murmured to my mom that I was hungry, she put a frozen pancake in the microwave and I ate it joyously. Regularly mom never made me food. Only on occasion, when she wasn't so /tired/.


	2. NOW

It was December of 2009 and I was eleven years old, taking residence at the Braus family household. They were a bunch of brunettes (I belonged in that aspect) who ate a whole lot of food. The amount they ate in on meal was more than what I had in a month, or maybe several even, when I lived with my mother. But that was so long ago now, three years I believe. It's all so hard to remember so I tried not to.

There wasn't snow outside today, it had melted this morning so the grass was wet, the dogs dump piles were hard and stuck to the ground as I tried to scoop them up. That was my job; dealing with the dogs shit. And it wasn't all that bad. It distracted me for the most part, but I tried to finish the job quickly since it was still very much cold, the wet grass was starting to freeze and crunch under my feet.

This morning Mrs. Braus had told me that she had a friend coming over at around noon, or anytime after lunch. At the time I didn't understand why she even bothered to tell me, it wasn't my friend who was coming over. Though I never had friends over, so that thought really wasn't relevant.

Apparently I was still outside scooping up the dog dump when noon rolled around because I saw a truck drive up the slippery hill into our driveway. I had saw that same truck maybe five minutes ago, whoever inside must have missed the house number.

I watched as the wheels slipped on the ice and the truck rolled down the steep hill of the driveway. This happened several times before whoever was inside decided to just fuck it and park on the road. Smart move, the icy hill was a tough one to defeat.

Minutes passed and the person inside the truck didn't start climbing up the hill so it was safe to assume that they went in the front entrance, the one that we surprisingly never used. So I had to finish up scooping the dog shit before I was summoned inside to greet the stranger.

After I was done, I threw the small scoop shovel next to the shed and made my way inside, where the furnace was on and quickly thawed out my frozen fingers. Inside smelt of dog fur, old wood, and paint. But honestly it was better than what it smelt like at the trailer I lived in for a good few years, I didn't mind it as a young kid though. I didn't know how toxic it was.

"Oh there he is, Eren! Come into the living room, will you? Meet our guest," I heard Mrs. Braus's voice ring throughout the house, bouncing off the walls in such a cheery way that almost made me sick. Or jealous, I couldn't understand how some people were just so happy while I felt the opposite. Perhaps I was just an angsty young teen, but still, I found it strange how the Braus family were so happy all the time.

Anyways, I made my way over to the average sized living room as my thoughts amused myself. The dog was at my feet as she usually was, following me until I stopped in the living room, in front of a man who sat on the leather couch. For just a few seconds I observed him; dark brown hair that went only a half inch past his shoulders, thin rimmed circular glasses, flecks of facial hair on his chin and jaw. He looked relatively nice, the corners of his eyes wrinkled as he smiled at me. It was a warm smile that somehow set me at ease. "So you're the boy I've been hearing all about?" The man spoke up and I only nodded as a response.

A few seconds passed by, the man obviously expected me to speak, so I let slip whatever words that were on the tip of my tongue. "What's your name sir?" And he laughed, lightly, merrily even. It was strange, but made my lips curl up into a small smile. "Grisha Jaeger, and it's very nice to meet you, Eren,"

At the time I wouldn't have suspected more of this man, he was simply my Foster parents friend, but somehow a few months later, he became more involved with my life.

On saturday's he took me out for lunch and treated me to bowling or another activity. He taught me how to spell his last name, saying that it would be mine too soon. I remember the first time he had me write it down; we were at Montana's, the restaurant that my Foster parents frequently visited, and I wrote it on the paper table cover along with my stupid doodles of spongebob and squidward.

"What do you think about adoption, Eren? Has it been an option for you?" Grisha asked just as I finished chewing. We were at Kelsey's now, it wasn't my favourite but it still was pretty great.

"Uh. Well I don't really mind the idea. It would be nice to not move anymore though," I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand after speaking. From all the hints the man had been dropping, I suspected he was considering the idea of adopting me. Maybe that would be a good thing, he seemed nice, and didn't do drugs. That was up to my standards.

"I've been considering it for a while now and I have decided that I want to adopt you. Would you like that? I have a nice house in a friendly neighbourhood, the school nearby is only a five minute walk," Ah, I knew he was going to ask that. It was strange though, his description of what could be my home didn't convince me to say yes. It was his hopeful smile. "Plus a boy around your age just moved in, in the next house over. Perhaps when /if/ you visit my house to have a look around, you can introduce yourself. How does that sound?"

I thought about this offer over a few bites of my steak before I nodded slowly. "I'd like that sir, I'd really like that,"

And so, that was where the next chapter of my life began.

Grisha adopted me in the month of December, right before Christmas. The snow fell outside of my new rooms window as I took in the scent of the house. It was a calm space, the only noise came from the dog that was sleeping at the foot of the stairs. I believed I could find myself calling this place home soon, it didn't seem forced or rushed, Grisha didn't push me to call him dad, he simply smiled when I asked about it over a home cooked dinner one night on the tenth of December, and said that I could call him whatever I liked.

And so I kept with Grisha for the time being.


End file.
